After the funeral, Florence had no intention to invite anyone back over to her flat, to sit and commiserate and listen to people tell her that they knew how miserable she felt. Being honest with herself, Florence had to admit that she wasn’t feeling miserable. Empty, yes. Lonely, yes. But after months and months taking care of her mother, after sacrificing so many opportunities and watching life rush past her, Florence was ready to just … move on. It felt awful to think it. It felt even worse to say it out loud. Because of this, she kept her thoughts to herself, hoping that she could play the mournful daughter long enough to keep everyone else’s minds at ease.        Ophelia’s words were true – perhaps even more applicable to Florence’s current position than the other woman even knew. “Sometimes,” Florence repeated. Words weren’t coming to her easily, perhaps for the first time in years. She kept picturing her mother’s frail body, reliving the days and moments right before she passed. She tightened her arm around Ophelia’s, and in a moment of vulnerability, rested her head briefly on the other woman’s shoulder.         Not wanting to invade Ophelia’s personal space too much, she lifted her head and looked back at her friend. “I … how do I stop thinking about her? How do I stop feeling like everything that I did and said was wrong and selfish? … I don’t want to anymore.” Truth be told, Florence wanted to have some strong whiskey and do something exciting, something she’d forget in the morning. She wanted to feel like she was living, or at least living for herself, for the first time in what felt like forever. “Can we go somewhere? Somewhere … else?”

@opheliapomfrey

       The adrenaline of the past week had finally let Arthur’s body, leaving him feeling tired and sore. Extremely sore considering everything that he’d been through the past couple of days. Getting out of bed had been difficult this morning and Arthur had complained to Molly who was already up and about running around and helping people. ‘I’m old, but I’m not that old!’ He’d said before she shushed him and encouraged him to seek out either Ted or Ophelia. 

       Well, Ted was busy once Arthur found him in the castle and not nearly as good to look at as Ophelia, which he made sure to tell his friend as he departed to find the blonde. 

       Ophelia had apparently set up shop in a little office. “Hello,” he said, shutting the door quietly after seeing her jump. Arthur wasn’t quick or observant on most occasions, but he cared about people and could read them. Well, some of them. He’d been unable to read Walden and a few other Death Eaters he’d seemed to befriend and part of him was still confused about that, but it wasn’t something to get caught on now. Arthur believed in people and would continue to trust them despite everything. “Sorry, I should have knocked. I should have knocked.”

       Arthur walked closer to Ophelia in the small room, keeping his distance enough to be casual and friendly, but give her space. He could only imagine how she was feeling after the attack on St. Mungo’s. “The boys are doing good. Still exploring the castle. I’m hoping that last’s them another week at least. Keeps them busy you know? And Molly is actually the reason I’m here. The past few weeks I’ve obtained a few… injuries that I’ve left untreated. Nothing terrible, so if I need to come back another time I can…” He offered, not wanting to be intrusive. 

    There had always been that line he couldn’t cross with Ophelia, and he was always grateful for how little she tried to push him over it. Part of the reason he had always felt so comfortable seeking her aid was because of how little she asked of him. Many Healer’s had prying questions when you went to them. Some even refused medical relief unless the source of the injury was revealed so that they didn’t enable wizards to continue any illegal activity. There was also that wordless agreement between them that Evan could feel, and he knew without knowing how he knew, that Ophelia was a lot more informed of his status and whereabouts than she probably even wanted to admit to herself right about now. He’d known her for a long time now, and he knew she was smart. Yet here she was once again offering to help soothe his cuts and bruises without a lecture. To say that Evan was grateful was a vast understatement. 

       The feel of her fingers on the parts of his body that protested the most made him flinch, but ultimately he found the practiced touch soothing and the salve did seem to be helping. “I really should get some of that for myself,” he commented, watching as some of the shallower scrapes began to heal. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting in response to his seemingly random question. Her acceptance of his request was met with a furrowed brow as he fixed his green eyes on her. “Are you sure?” Although there had been nights as a child where he had shown up at the outside of her common room asking for her, he had never crossed the line of asking to stay. He never asked for more than what he needed.

       He had started to press their boundaries on Christmas Eve with the random need for a conversation, but this… this was something different. “You can say no if you want to, you know.” Why he was trying to give her an out he had no idea. There was no back up plan exactly. There weren’t many non-Death Eater families that Evan knew of that he could ask. “If you ever have said that.” He said at the end, suddenly wondering if that was even a possibility for the Healer. She was too pure of heart. Or so he thought. “But thank you…” After a pause, he continued. “I know you probably have a lot more questions than you’re throwing at me. And I appreciate your restraint. I wouldn’t want to ever lie to you.” As time wore on, that would only becoming more and more challenging, though. Especially if he was going to stay here. 

       “I’ll go pick up some of my things tonight, then.” He said, still watching as she maneuvered around him to inspect. Eventually he came to the realization just how… normal this felt. Almost domestic. Familial. Evan licked his lips and gripped her moving wrist with his hand to still her movements. “Okay, you can stop now, Oph, I’m good.” He smiled with his head tilted down at her as he gently prompted, “Clothes. Can you have a look for me please? I’m, uh… feeling a little exposed here.”

        Fabian didn’t contradict the rumors to which she alluded; letting others continue to interpret the twins’ legacy as they chose.  This particular rumor, however, was untrue.  There were plenty of times he’d been caught at school after some minor infraction and found himself unable to get himself out of the jam.  Gideon was the one with the gift of bewitching people with his storytelling and getting them out of trouble.  Fabian couldn’t compare and had learned long ago to divert the conversation or keep his mouth shut.  Since the crimes leveled at him were unfounded there was no need to lie and for once he hoped that what had been an unfortunate skill to lack in school would work in his favor now.  “I’m sure you’re right.  It’s probably just a misunderstanding.”

       Ophelia’s response wasn’t what he expected but as she explained he understood.  Fabian lowered his head, ashamed. Millicent’s election was a major victory to him and hard won.  The consequences if Black or Lestrange had been elected would have been catastrophic.  While they’d won the election, however, it didn’t mean that the war was over nor did it erase the past.  He was sorely sorry that his comment had come across as being completely blind to the complex realities of the situation.  Ophelia was immersed in the day to day reality of the war in a way he wasn’t.  The Order was there in the midst of the chaos of an attack or an event that had gotten out of hand but she was the one dealing with the consequences long after they left.  The election might be over but it didn’t mean that the attacks had stopped.

       “Of course.  You’re right, it’s not over.  I just…”  He didn’t have the heart to explain everything that he was thinking and feeling about the election and everything else that had happened over the last two months.  When something came that rekindled hope he clung to it.  This war would break them otherwise; break them far beyond the feelings of brokenness many were feeling right now.

       “What’s the state of things at Mungo’s?”

May 14, 1979 Ophelia Pomfrey’s Residence @opheliapomfrey

       It was said that when a storm brews, animals flee. Ran from the danger to seek out high ground, find a way to get out of the line of fire. Noah’s ark was the most common of stories involving anything of the sort, a flood threatening their lives forcing action to be taken. Daisy had heard it many times as a child, in church, at home. That was what this felt like; the cloak of war continued to darken over London, magic seeming to come even more alive with a sense of panic that never seemed did dissipate. Life was not about living anymore, so much as just surviving, and the usual warm buzz that accompanied magical air was darker now. Anxious. Something that couldn’t be fixed overnight, no matter how badly everyone seemed to be fighting for an end. No longer was this war something that could be passed off in whispers. Daisy remembered, vividly, the curiosity that surged through the walls of Hogwarts. Whatever war had been back then seemed like child’s play anymore. They all had wide eyes and optimism to believe that things would be fine. By some miracle, Daisy Hookum had managed to hold onto that even after being orphaned. But Merlin, it was getting so difficult to do.

     After the attacks on Diagon Alley months before, Daisy had been so hopeful that maybe this was as bad as it could get. Watching Dorcas, someone who had always been so kind to her, die right before her very eyes— it was different. So very different than the day she had gone to Borgin, her father’s cold wand illuminating the shop with the destructive visions of Richard and Jocelyn’s final moments. Watching a friend die was far different than reliving a family murder, and Daisy could admit that. Even with her stubborn determination to do something, that had been the match to light her disappearing. She left word with those closest to her of course, but she had needed her grandmother. And Scotland had been such a beautiful reprieve, calm and untouched by the horrifying darkness that enclosed England like a dome. 

     But she had been proven wrong, with almost no time to waste, practically the moment her feet rested in British soil again. It had started with the owl leading her to the Ministry, to an attack that she wanted no part of, that got Benjy and Alice hurt. She felt such a coward, fleeing like she did. But Aversio was fighting a battle that Daisy couldn’t condone or side with anymore. Not with their terrorism hurting her best friend, killing innocent people, going after yet another Minister for no reason. Immediately, she had returned home, Smoke anxious between her ankles - yet more proof, in her eyes, that the cat was more intelligent than most. He always knew. Fear and a shaking heart kept Daisy pacing through the night, and the many that followed, made only worse by the attacks that struck the hospital. That news alone pulled her heart to her throat, bile coated and quivering; Ted and Ophelia were in that hospital. Innocent patients, too many people that didn’t deserve to die. It took more time than she’d care to admit, after that, to ease the stress-induced illness that had her tiny frame crumpled on the bathroom floor. Too much time to muster up the courage to do much of anything. Once she did, with a quick check to ensure the cat had food, Daisy sealed her flat and Apparated immediately. “Ophelia?” She called, hoping her shaking - almost hysterical - voice would carry through the front door. “Ophelia! Please, please be here…” 

     Please be alive.

        Fear hung deep in her throat, it’s icy grip seeming to catch every breath Ophelia had wanted to take and cut it in half. Even the bright warmth of Xeno’s caravan not enough to pull her out of the vivid gore that infected wild eyes. She’d seen death, witnessed destruction -- but never had she experienced a slaughter. No other word could do the deaths of countless innocents, people who had sought healing and refugee, justice, and their lives hung in a bitter reminder of all they had lost. Not just one or two -- but dozens, people who Ophelia had promised to care for, and had failed utterly. It wasn’t a burden she bore well, nerves frantic with unreleased energy, and her heart seemingly lying in shattered pieces in her chest. Part of Ophelia wondered if it might feel better for it not to be beating any longer, if Xeno hadn’t found her and pulled her out of the wreckage and convinced her not to go after those whose lives had already been lost. At least then she wouldn’t be torn at the edges and so completely alone.

16th May 1979 Order Safe House @opheliapomfrey

        Gideon hadn’t even noticed he’d been hurt until it was all over. He’d climbed into a shower to wash off the filth of the fight and found a long, but not too deep cut running across his ribs. There was a tear and blood stains on his clothes surrounding the injury, but the adrenalin and exhaustion of it all must have kept him from really noticing it. 

       It wasn’t exactly a clean cut, maybe there was some burn damage as well, but nothing important seemed to be falling out or falling off, so he’d finished his shower, bandaged it up and hoped it would sort itself out with time. People had fared a lot worse out of all of this, a lot of it was his fault, he didn’t want to waste anyone’s time. 

       The injury did not sort itself out. If anything the next morning it was worse, and the next day Gid was finding it quite painful to move or breath too deeply. All this proved that there was a very good reason why Gideon Prewett was not a healer. He decided it was time to seek professional help, hoping the chaos immediately following the attacks may have calmed down a little and that Ophelia, the only healer he really knew, might be able to spare him a few moments. 

       He found her at an improvised station at a safe house. He didn’t really know much about her, other than she was a healer, but then to hear some people talk, that’s all there was to her. Gid decided this couldn’t be true. “Hey Ophelia, I was er- wondering if you had a moment to take a look at something for me.” He realized how odd that sounded out of context and quickly corrected himself. “Medical related, of course.” The guilt of just being here, needing her help, was already near overwhelming, he hated it. 

moodboard: karen page

do you really think this is the first time i’ve shot someone?

       There was more of an air of untouchablity around Emma than ever before. With her days spent either aiding in Rodolphus’ campaign in whatever way she could or training harder than she ever had before, there was no denying that she felt a certain smugness at the way her life was going. Buoyed by her most recent win on the Quidditch pitch and her unshakeable confidence that the Wizarding community would see that Rodolphus was the only logical choice as Minister, she decided that there was time for a few moments of rare indulgence. It wasn’t often these days that she found herself able to enjoy a good book anymore, always too focused on her goals to ever afford herself a moment to truly unwind. Striding into Flourish and Blotts she had every intention of towards her favourite section but she couldn’t help be glance around to see whose attention that her arrival had caught. Brown eyes landed on a familiar blonde and it was only a sense of stubbornness that made her hold the other woman’s gaze long enough for her to speak to her.

       For once she was perhaps glad to see the other woman, if only because things were going so well for her at the moment and she’d always felt the need to make her success clear. “Ophelia,” The greeting held a warmth that she didn’t feel nor possess for the other woman, too many years of forced play dates for her to ever hold any genuine sort of fondness for her. Walking forward with measured steps, Emma closes the distance between them but stops short of completing the full charade of pulling the Healer into a hug or any other sort of physical contact. “I was almost beginning to wonder where you’d got to after all this time. But here you are and what a lovely surprise it is.” She was far to practised at false niceties for her mask to ever slip but the brunette had always had the suspicion that Ophelia had seen enough of her in her younger years before she’d tempered her behaviour enough that it was now almost always above reproach to know that there was more to her than the simple sweet politeness that she tended to offer up to people now. Still, it hardly mattered when she could at least be seen to be genuine enough.

       The smile on her lips turned into something all the more satisfied when she heard her name being linked to the Lestranges so openly. If the news had gotten this far it meant that all her campaigning was working and that in itself was something to be proud of. “I am, yes, and thank you. I’ll be sure to pass that on to him. We are rather hoping that we won’t be needing luck or well wishes but I’m sure they don’t hurt.” Her confidence in her choice of candidate was strong, perhaps almost rivalling the confidence that she had in herself to achieve everything she’d dreamed of. In her mind there was almost no losing and positive thinking was nothing to be ashamed of. Remembering her manners, Emma is quick to ask after the blonde, even if she can’t help but extol her own busy schedule in the same breath. “And how have you been? I’ve been so terribly busy with the Falcons and the Lestranges that I have barely had time to see my mother to hear her inevitable stories about you.”

       “A truly marvelous surprise, it’s been far too long, Emma” She could feel herself squirming, an after effect of the many forced play-dates and dinner parties they’d had to endure together. Even now they lingered in her mouth like a bad taste that she couldn’t rid herself of. Desperately had she wanted to get along with the brunette, every effort made to find some sort of bonding point. But their temperaments differed so dramatically that Ophelia often had to wonder how they’d managed to get through puberty without causing a scene. It was politeness, she’d always figured, a desire to be the perfect daughters their mothers had crafted them to be, and neither one of them had wanted to be the one to fall from grace. Although, Ophelia knew, if either of them had -- it would’ve been her. Abandoning her parents’ insistence of finding a respectable job at the Ministry and procuring power, and instead becoming a Healer. Instead, she’d chosen her own path, although the competitive streak when it came to Emma hadn’t ever truly vanished.